Shackles of Fate

27 Mirtul 1497 DR, early afternoon



Walking slowly away from the crackling purple light of the augmented teleportation circle from which they’ve just emerged, the four battered figures seem a little out of place in the swirl of nervous activity in Portal Plaza. Sunday, armoured but unarmed, and Baine, with his heavy maul resting across his shoulders, are both caked in dried blood and ichor, scorch-marks on their armour from the hellfire that flared out at them every time they struck the Rage Knight’s boiling form. Taffeta and Traavor, their respective crossbows slung across their backs, are less bloody but their clothes are torn and dirty.



Traavor stops and takes a swig from his trusty flask, then turns to the others. “It’s been a privilege to fight with you all but I have to take some time to plan something for myself. I wish you good luck in the battles ahead and hope you might help me with something… should you survive.”



The cloaked half-elf starts to turn away but Baine reaches out and pulls him into a firm hug, then grinds his scarred knuckles across the top of Traavor’s head. “Stay out of trouble, Traav.”



Released from the powerful grip, Traavor awkwardly straightens his cloak and nods to the other three, then walks off purposefully in the direction of Swampside.



“Well,” says Taffeta, looking up at Sunday and even further up at Baine. “What now?”



—::[]::—



A halfling, tiefling and dragonborn walk out of the tavern and head towards Portal Plaza, the roguish tiefling carrying a pair of magical shackles whilst the small halfling tries to reason with him once again.



“I still don’t think we should be selling them to the very people who are going to be risking their lives to save the Realms!” Sheryl huffs in a hushed, intense tone to Mace. “I know you like gold, Mace but please, reconsider…”



The trio spot Baine, Sunday, and Taffeta as a half-elf they only vaguely recognize leaves their company in the Plaza. Mace starts making a beeline straight for them.



He sighs, but gives no hint of backing down, though he is nervously wringing his hands. “Now hold on, Sheryl. We risked our lives to find out what was in that devil’s mind, and all we really got as a reward were these shackles. I understand they might be helpful, but at least I would like some reward for handing them over. They are very valuable, 3000 gold pieces easily, probably more! Taz agrees with me, I’m sure.” The red dragonborn nods. “And I have mouths to feed and a business to run. I need that money, whether K’ul Goran survives or not.”



“No, wait–” But Mace ignores her and marches on ahead, catching the attention of the three standing figures and starting to speak. Sheryl catches up, Taz’s longer gait easily out pacing her just as Mace starts to launch into his sales pitch.



“Ah, my friends! Sunday, and Ser Baine, it is now, isn’t it? Congratulations on your knighthood, well deserved I say, and very timely indeed! I don’t know your lovely companion, but we know you as quite capable individuals.” Taffeta opens her mouth but then closes it again as the tiefling continues.



“As you well know, I’m sure, the infernal portal opening in K’ul Goran is all of our business, and we have just returned from a meeting with Khazifa the Wise, who has drawn up a strategy for meeting this calamity head on. I am sure you will have a significant part to play in all this!”



At this, Sunday stops and turns, having walked on past the tiefling, and starts to pay attention to his words as Mace continues.



“We wanted to offer our support to you, and offer you this pair of rare and valuable Dimensional Shackles – magical chains to perfectly restrain even the mightiest fiend – which I am sure could become quite useful to you! We risked our lives to get them, and would offer them to you, at a special, highly discounted price – a one-of-a-kind deal!”



Various emotions dash across Sheryl’s face as Mace talks before her lips form a firm line and she looks to the tiefling, half orc, and halfling across from them. It’s clear from her body language she doesn’t like what Mace is doing. Taz, standing on Mace’s other side, smiles to himself. Looking the adventurers up and down, in his mind they are not short of valuables to trade. No doubt, though, they’d try to wrangle this for free. He decides to keep quiet, and let Mace handle the negotiations.



“What say you?” Mace asks with his trademark grin. “Might this be of use to you? Chain up Zariel herself, eh, and put an end to all this madness?”



There’s a protracted moment of awkward silence.



Baine looks from Mace to Sunday to Taffeta and back again to Mace, the skepticism clear on his face.



“You’ve got some fuckin’ nerve, mate.” Beside Baine, Sunday snorts derisively.



The half-orc gives a brief glance to Taz before nodding at Sheryl, who nods back with a half smile.



“Thank you!” the tiefling beams all the brighter. “We will all need strong nerves to see us through this crisis, and in a small way, we wish to support you in this. We really do feel that you might make the best use of these shackles. Who better than you to wrestle an archduke of the hells to the ground-”



“Stop talking.” Sunday says quietly, turning to look at Taz and Sheryl. “What is he on about?”



“We want to offer these Dimensional Shackles to you, Sunday,” Sheryl replies. “Some of us want to just give them to you – there’s more to life than monetary pursuits,” she flashes a glare at Mace and Taz. Then closes her eyes and takes a breath. “But some people think differently.”



“I don’t mean the shackles.” Sunday replies, weariness roughing the edges of her tone as she rubs a hand over her face. “I don’t care about the shackles. What are you saying about Khazifa? She’s back? With some plan? And what is he,“ Sunday nods towards Mace, “saying about wrestling Zariel to the ground? Is this all some sort of joke? ‘Cos if it is, now’s probably not the best time...” She gestures at the battered, bloodied, and exhausted state of herself and her companions.



The fey bard’s brow furrows under her circlet then clears. “Things are happening fast. We helped Khazifa get some valuable information, but she’s talking to the powers that be about a plan in three parts.”



At this, Baine shoots Sunday a quick, amused glance. “Sounds like a unilateral decision to me,” he says quietly. Sunday smiles bitterly in return, laying a hand on Baine’s arm as Sheryl carries on.



“Part one is the armies of K’ul Goran and Daring Heights joining forces to fight the armies of the First at the portal,” the small woman continues, grim determination painting her face in hard, sharp lines. “Part two will be a group that goes directly to Zariel herself, a feint to distract her from part three, the linchpin – a small group that takes out the elemental power source in Zariel’s tower which is controlling the portal on the Avernus side.”



Sunday’s expression slowly changes from confusion to incredulity to amusement at Sheryl’s words. “Now I know you are joking. Khazifa really likes to take the piss sometimes; she’s clearly not changed in that respect.” She chuckles. “And you’ve decided that we are to confront Zariel directly? What’s part four of your plan? Get Rholor to sneak into Nessus and steal Asmodeus’ pet lemure?”



“You may think it’s a joke, Sunday, but I am being very serious,” Sheryl replies, her voice changing. Anger flashes across her face for the briefest of moments before she looks to Baine, her face clearing into earnestness again. “If you want these to help in your fight then you should take them.”



Sunday merely raises a bemused eyebrow at Sheryl’s outburst as Taffeta looks in confusion from one face to another, saying: "Sorry – our fight? Have I missed something?"



Baine shrugs his massive shoulders, seemingly at the whole situation and possibly the world at large.



“Sounds like someone high up the chain somewhere has a plan. And that plan involves us doing something really fuckin’ dangerous – so far so good.” The amiable grin on his face hardens into something sharper as he narrows his eyes at Mace.



“What’s doin’ my head in a little is that this piece of shit wants to cash in on it.”



Mace does not flinch, muscle memory keeping the smile as hard as if carved in stone. Only the black orbs of his eyes reflect the unspoken wince of a puppy that has just been kicked, but returns nonetheless, tail wagging.



“Look, I know this is all rather sudden and things are moving quickly, but we really think these shackles could be more helpful to you than to us. As for the price, we are quite reasonable, putting in a “saving the world” discount of course, for our valiant heroes.” Sheryl looks away, shaking her head. “But I risked my life for these, and I have mouths to feed back in Port Ffirst, people who depend on me.” His eyes quickly swivel to look at each of them, lingering on Taffeta for just a moment longer, before returning. “I am eager to help, but I can't afford to give them to you for free.”



“I’m still struggling with the wider plan and why we would even need the shackles....” Sunday says in response, shaking her head. “Do any of you know anything about Zariel?” She asks, directing her words at Mace, Sheryl, and Taz. “What makes you think we can get anywhere near her to use these things?” Sunday waves a hand at the manacles in Mace’s grasp. “Why would a feint, as you put it, get her to leave her tower if that’s where the key to all this is? And who are you sending into” - here, Sunday laughs the words - “Zariel’s tower to disable her grand plan? Have you asked any of these people if they even want to be involved? Think we all need a bit more context than ‘here are some shackles to throw at Zariel. Good luck!’.” Sunday shakes her head again. “Do any of you really know what this plan of yours is?”



Baine’s grin is showing teeth now, and his eyes don't leave Mace’s even as he replies to Sunday.



“The plan is, we’re gonna be bait, love. The daughter of Valcyra. The Godslayer as well, probably, and the rest of us idiots you keep around. That’s what’s gonna draw her out. We’re gonna lay down our lives and hopefully it’ll work, hopefully we can buy enough time that this clusterfuck of a plan falls into place, and hopefully Zariel won’t win and bring the Blood War to the material plane.”



He takes a step closer to Mace, his voice lowering to a menacing rumble as he looms over the tiefling.



“Hopefully she won’t come through with her armies and bathe us all in flame and gore, hopefully thousands and thousands of people won’t die – and you’re thinkin’ of turning a profit?”



Taffeta glances at the only pair of eyes that are level with hers. Sincerity can be seen but it’s overshadowed by something else. Topaz blue eyes look over to Taffeta and there’s a half smile that tips the corners of one side of her mouth up a fraction then it’s gone.



Mace does not flinch under Baine’s glare, the permanent grin unmoved. “Look, friend Baine-”



Baine shakes his head. “Don’t you dare call me that.”



“Fine. Look, acquaintance Baine, I am not telling you what to do. This isn’t my plan, and I appreciate that you may not feel entirely thrilled by the prospect of being asked to charge into hell and confront an infernal archduke directly, if only as bait-”



Baine cuts in with a snarl. “Actually, I’m fuckin’ ecstatic. This is what I do for a livin’ – I get my hands dirty so other people don’t have to, free of fucking charge.”



Mace waits patiently for Baine to finish, before picking up again.



“That's fair. What I am offering is a chance to improve your odds, if ever so slightly. We are all being asked to risk our lives in one way or another in the coming days. All I am saying is that I have people I care about, children that rely on me, and I would like to leave something for them behind, in case I don’t come back. Do you know what I mean? Do you have a family? Children? Loved ones? I am not seeing this as a chance for profit. This is insurance. For those I leave behind when I step through that thing,” he points to the portal, whirls of magic shimmering with unknowable power, “because for every one of us, over the next few days, every trip through that thing could be the last one.”



He sighs, lets the smile drop, and looks earnestly at each of them in turn. “Well, I have said my piece. Maybe you don’t want our help?”



Baine nods at him, deadpan. “Good, I don’t know how much more bullshit I’d be able to take. You’re making gold off of people in need, end of story. I’ll give you 1200 gold pieces for you to give me the shackles and get the fuck out of my sight.”



Mace squints, strokes his chin, and offers a sad smile. “1500 gold pieces for you, Baine, dearest of all my acquaintances, and at that price I am really cutting my own throat.”



Baine smiles, and grabs Mace by the scruff of his neck, pulling him in close. He pulls his arm back, about to punch Mace when Taz raises his voice.



“Hey, hey,” shouts Taz, not wanting to test his strength against Baine. “That’s enough, it’s just some shackles!”



Baine doesn’t respond but does lower his fist. He turns his head to growl into Mace’s ear.

“I see you for what you are, Mace, and I have no fuckin’ patience for your antics. You talk about your children and the people you care about when it’s men like you who put them starving in the street to begin with. 1000 gold pieces. Take it or leave it, entirely up to you.”



Taz overhears the words ‘1000 gold pieces’ and tugs Mace backwards. Baine looks at Taz for a second before relinquishing his grasp on Mace’s neck and stepping back.



Taz turns to Mace. “We've clearly said our piece here, I think they don’t want them. Let’s take this back and have a drink, I’m sure we’ll find a use for them ourselves”.



Mace falls to his knees, coughing, then gingerly touching the quickly developing bruises on his neck.



“Clearly. A simple “no” would have sufficed? I bid you good day, and wish you luck in the war to come. We will all need it.”



He gets back up, steadying himself against Taz’ shoulder, and giving him an appreciative nod.

“Let's grab that drink. I’m buying.”



Sheryl steps in front of Mace and Taz, holding out her hand for the shackles. “Give them to me Mace. I will forgo my gold for them, since that’s what you clearly value the most.”



Meanwhile, Taffeta has turned to her two friends and whispers (as best she can while still projecting her voice upward to them), “Look, I don’t know what’s going on exactly, and I don’t like that fellow, but would it be worth having those things, whatever they are? If there’s going to be this… attack…?”



Baine shrugs, looking between Taffeta and Sunday, whose attention has drifted away during the scuffle to something across the square. He turns back to Sheryl and takes a coin pouch from his belt, weighing it in his hand before holding it out to her.



“1200 gold.”



The fey bard looks at Baine for a moment raising an eyebrow, before returning her gaze to the two in front of her. “That sounds like a fair bargain does it not?” she asks, a sneer in the words as she speaks to Mace. Her voice goes flat and low, only to be heard by Mace and Taz. “This is bigger than us and it’s time you start thinking of a bigger picture rather than your small kingdom.”



Mace hesitates for a moment, his black eyes becoming cloudy for the briefest instant, before he nods in assent.



Sheryl reaches out for the bag of gold from Baine at the same time Mace offers her the shackles, passing one to the other, never losing eye contact with the tiefling. Once the gold is in Mace’s hand she turns to Baine and offers a small smile under worried eyebrows. “Here…” Her smile fades very quickly.



Baine accepts the shackles, slinging them over his shoulder and giving a lazy salute before turning to Tafetta and Sunday. “So Daisy’s nan wants us to be bait, huh?”



At the half-orc’s words, Sunday’s focus only now shifts back from the memorial to the victims of the Lassitude to look at the group in front of her. “And half the Dawnlands, too, it seems. Does anyone know where she is now?”



“I think she’s in Avernus,” replies Taz. “But I’m not sure.”



“She said she had to talk to a lot of people very quickly. Khazifa turned into a hawk and flew out the window of the Hung Rabbit without telling us who she was seeing next though.” Sheryl half shrugs. “I could Send her a message if you’d like, Sunday.”



“So we don’t know where she is.” Sunday says. “Did she tell you anything useful? Like who else might be involved or when this is supposed to happen?”



The small woman looks at everyone, taking in their expressions and body language. She sighs and turns back to Sunday, holding her head high.



“Sooner than we are ready for, I think. Within a day or two at most.”



“Maybe Daisy knows what’s going on,” offers Taffeta. “Or at least where Khazifa might be.”



Sunday nods slowly. “Or maybe someone on the Council knows something.” She gestures in the direction of the building standing on one side of the square. “Baine? Coming?”



The half-orc gives a small shake of his head before nodding towards Castleside. “Gotta go check in with the bossman. Come find me there later if you want.”



Sunday reaches up to rest her hand on Baine’s arm. “Good idea. He might know something about this. See you both later.”



He covers her hand with his briefly, before nodding at the rest of the group.



“Pleasure doin’ business with you.” He walks off northward, while Taffeta and Sunday head toward the town hall.



Sheryl watches them go their separate ways, her face unreadable.



"That went well, all things considered." Mace winces as he keeps touching his bruise. "Now, who is up for that drink?"